


Twenty five days of Johnlock Cheer

by astudyinfic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 25 day OTP Holiday Challenge, First Kiss, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, New Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-20 06:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 9,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinfic/pseuds/astudyinfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My minifics for the 25 Day OTP Holiday challenge.  Chronicling John and Sherlock's relationship from first kiss to Christmas Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holiday Decorating

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Just quick and dirty (though not smutty) mini fics, originally posted on my tumblr account (DrandMrsJohnWatson).

“A useless holiday, used by Christians to convert the natives by subverting the Pagan holidays to their own purposes, “ Sherlock had said and John had to admit he was correct.  When he thought about it, it seemed silly.  Neither of them was religious.  Neither of them had much contact with their families.  There was really no reason to celebrate other than social convention.  But John loved Christmas.  As a child, he laid under the tree gazing up through the branches at the multi-coloured lights.  Harry and he would open their chocolate advent calendars each day, relishing the sweet on their tongue.  As he grew older there was mulled wine, eggnog, and cuddling by the fireplace, stockings silhouetted in the blazing light.

When Sherlock got a call from Molly telling him of an interesting corpse in the morgue, John took the rare peaceful afternoon to go through a box he kept in the basement.  Old, glass ornaments which had once belonged to his parents; his stocking, now threadbare with time; and many other nostalgic pieces.  Trekking out on his own, he purchased a small tree that he hauled back to Baker Street, dragging it down the sidewalk and up the stairs.  Once upright, he set out again, this time purchasing the decorations he did not have but felt were necessary.

By the time he heard the door close downstairs, the tree was trimmed, the stockings were hung, and he was placing the last candles on the windowsill.  Bracing himself for the onslaught of Sherlockian belittlement, he heard the steps pause in the doorway.  Turning to face his flatmate, he was pleased to see a small smile on Sherlock’s face.

“Mummy used to have people come in and decorate the manor,” he spoke, voice dreamy as if not quite aware of where he was.  “Not a twig out of place.  No garish ornaments, tacky lights, or anything that would not fit perfectly with the rest of the décor.  It was always professional and proper.  Nothing like this.”  John’s hands came to his hips, and just as he opened his mouth to protest, Sherlock continued.  “It was so hateful.  The desire to be perfect, to live up to the expectations of everyone around.  But this, this feels like home and family.  I think I would have liked the holidays if they were like this.”

Shaking his head, Sherlock came back to himself, and realizing he had been speaking cleared his throat.  “Obviously you have been busy.  Did you manage to do the research I asked?”

“No, but I got you a stocking, so I think that should count for something,” John smiled at the insufferable man in front of him.  Glancing up, he smirked and stepped closer, close enough to feel Sherlock’s breath on his face.  “You do know the rules?” he asked pointing up.

Tilting his head back, Sherlock’s eyes widened, “ _Viscum album_.”

“More commonly known as mistletoe.”  Without a second thought, John pushed up, placing a quick kiss to Sherlock’s lips.  “Happy Christmas, Sherlock.”


	2. Christmas Cards

The stack of cards lie abandoned in front of him.  He knew he was supposed to be signing them but he had other things on his mind. 

He kissed Sherlock.  Sure, he could blame the mistletoe, but still it had happened. 

Sherlock kissed him back.  Tentatively perhaps, but his arms wrapped loosely around John’s waist as they stood there, lips pressed chastely together.    After a few moments, John broke the kiss, panicked and spent the rest of the evening locked in his room, torn between dancing a jig and dying of embarrassment. 

When he emerged the next morning, Sherlock was sprawled on the couch, dressing gown fanned out around him, hands steepled under his chin.  Sherlock gave no acknowledgement of the tea that was placed next to him or anything that had transpired the night before, and John was unsure whether to be relieved or depressed. 

The morning proceeded with blog entries and Christmas cards.  Some were easy.  Old rugby blokes, men from his unit in Afghanistan, Harry.  The people he knew who were in no way involved with his life with Sherlock.  But the rest?  Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Sally, Mycroft?  Should he sign them ‘John’?  ‘John and Sherlock’?  Does Sherlock even care about these kinds of things?  (John was pretty sure the answer was no, however there were times when he made assumptions about Sherlock and ended up looking foolish, so he never quite trusted his gut.)

John found himself so wrapped up in his thoughts that he failed to notice Sherlock had moved until the man was right behind him.    “What is troubling you so much that you have not moved for 20 minutes?” came the deep baritone voice, shattering the silence so completely that John could not help jumping in surprise.

“Just, um, Christmas cards,” he answered lamely.  “Not really sure how to sign them.  Are you planning on sending any out?”

John felt his breath catch as an arm wrapped around his shoulders and Sherlock bent to rest his face next to his.  “Me, personally?  No.  But I would be more than happy if you wanted to sign yours ‘John and Sherlock.’  Is that what you were asking?”

“John and Sherlock—flatmates, or John and Sherlock—something more?” John heard himself ask, too distracted by the other man’s breath ghosting over his face. 

John felt Sherlock’s cheeks turn up in a smile as he answered, “I have been considering that question all day and I believe the answer is ‘something more’.  Because it’s always been something more, hasn’t it John?”

John gave him the only answer he could, turning his head and stopping that brilliant mouth with a kiss.


	3. Snuggling by the fire with cocoa

“Go upstairs and take a shower.  You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch hypothermia.”  John was not pleased, to say the least.  What should have been a fairly simple case involving a bank robbery ended with a three mile run through London.  The suspect got away when Sherlock misjudged the stability of the ground and went tumbling heels over bum straight into a pond.  Emerging wet and irate, it took all of John’s patience to get the man into a cab and home.

“I am f..f..f..fine,” Sherlock chattered, stubborn and put out that he had not managed to catch the criminal.

Rolling his eyes, John settled down before the mantle to build a fire.  “You are not.  Your lips are turning blue.  Go take a hot shower, warm up and when you get back I will have a fire and tea.   _Go_.”  His inner drill sergeant came out with the last command and Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly before slinking off to do as he was told. 

Hearing the water turn on, John smirked as he stoked the fire.  When a decent sized flame flared up, he stood to put on the kettle for tea.  Looking at their selection, he realized that Sherlock probably did not need caffeine at the moment, so he settled for a peppermint variety that he kept on hand for when Sherlock overindulged during his post-case binges and got stomach cramps.  Plus, peppermint was festive, right?

As the tea steeped, the water turned off upstairs and he heard Sherlock make his way to his room.  John jogged up to his own room, changing out of his clothes— not as wet as Sherlock, but damp from helping the other man out of the water— and into some flannel pyjama bottoms and a cotton tee shirt.   He arrived in the kitchen to see that Sherlock had a similar idea of attire, but with his dressing gown over the top.

Grabbing the mugs of tea, John nodded in the direction of the now roaring fire.  Setting the tea on the hearth, he grabbed a knit blanket from his arm chair, and settled on Sherlock’s shoulders while directing the man to sit down.  Sherlock, folded elegantly to the floor, landing cross legged with the blanket and dressing gown flowing out behind him.  His hair, still damp from the shower, clung to his forehead and face in dark curls, causing him to look much younger in the dim light of the fire.   Unable to stop himself, John reached over and pushed the hair back, off of his face.  Sherlock smiled at him, and lifting an arm, invited John under the blanket.

The rest of the evening was spent in silence, just the crackle from the fireplace, the occasional sip of tea, and several sweet kisses shared under a blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strangely enough the Wager on Kink chapter I posted today related to this same topic, though in a much smuttier way. Strange how the timing worked out.


	4. The Perfect Gift

The heels of Sherlock’s hands were pressed to his eyes, trying to block out as much stimulus as possible.  He avoided shopping for a reason.  Even Tesco’s in the middle of the night provided so much input just from the handful of customers that it could overwhelming.  Here, in the midst of the holiday rush at Harrods, it was downright paralyzing.  He did not want to know who was cheating on their spouse, cheating on their taxes, cheating at the lottery.  He did not care who had recently lost their job, who had a committed a series of petty crimes just for sheer thrill or who was expecting their 2nd child.  But all the information and more seared itself in his mind.  Sure, he would delete it as soon as he got home, but until then the effects were unpleasant.

Only one thing could have forced him into such a situation.  Well, one man.  And while he suffered as silently as possible, John searched for the perfect gift for Mrs. Hudson.  Sherlock had whined and complimented.  (“But John, you don’t need me there.  You are better at this than I am.”)  He had complained and insulted.  (“It is completely pointless John.  Only an idiot would think that there is such a thing as a ‘perfect’ gift.”)  In the end, John had agreed to go on his own, but the hurt that momentarily crossed his face caused a new emotion to bubble up inside Sherlock.  Guilt.  “Huh,” he had thought.  He had never felt guilty in his life.  But it seemed that John was good at bringing out all sort of emotions in him.

It took him a moment to realize when John was actually speaking to him, bringing him back from his mind palace to the department store.  “What do you think about this?” John asked, looking slightly perturbed.  He must have asked a few times.  Sherlock took in the scarf John was holding up.  Cashmere, light purple.  It was lovely, but not for Mrs. Hudson. 

“When would she wear that John?  She is not one to go out for much other than coffee with friends or a trip to Tesco’s.  A scarf like that is for more formal occasions.  While I am sure she would appreciate it, she would never get any use out of it.”  He pressed his hands to his eyes again.  A family of five had just passed and his senses were overloaded once more.

A gentle hand came to rest on his wrist, “Hey, Sherlock.  Sherlock, look at me.”  John’s voice was soft, too quiet for the loud department store, but Sherlock would hear him above any crowd.  John Watson cut through all the noise and superfluous data, right to the heart of Sherlock Holmes.  “Are you alright?”

“Too much.  Too many people and too much input,” Sherlock muttered.  He hated to admit any sort of weakness, but for some reason, things that were not typically ok were just fine when John was concerned.

“The place is a bit of a mad house, isn’t it?  Let’s go catch a cab.  I can do this some other time.”  John smiled, and slid his hand into Sherlock’s.  Public display of affection, that was new, but not unwelcome.   Sherlock gripped John’s hand tight as if he was Sherlock’s anchor in an otherwise unsteady world.

They were walking briskly towards the exit when Sherlock stopped abruptly.  “There,” was all he said, pointing in the direction of a rack of clothing.

John ran his hands, through the silky fabric, “You are right.  It’s perfect.  Do you want to wait outside while I pay?”  The thought of letting go of John’s hand was unpleasant, so he shook his head and followed to the register. 

Within fifteen minutes they were on their way home, surrounded by the peace and quiet of a London cab, the perfect gift safely stowed beside John as the stress of the day fell far behind.


	5. Buying the Tree

“This tree is much too small, John.”  Sherlock stood in the middle of the living room, hands on his hips, glaring at the Christmas tree as if its very existence was an insult to him.  “For a room this size, it really should be much taller.”

Sighing, John stuck his head in from the kitchen.  “I had to drag it four blocks and carry it up the stairs, so yeah, it is a bit small but it is a perfectly nice tree.  Plus, we do not have enough ornaments for a tree larger than that.”  Sherlock flopped into his arm chair, legs thrown over the side and brow furled in thought.  “Oh no.  Not the face again,” John huffed.  “I do not know what is going on in your head, so just say it.”

“I think the answer is obvious John.  This tree has to go.  We can give it to Mrs. Hudson.  It is an adequate size for her flat.  Then we will go and get a larger one.”

Knowing there was no sense in arguing, John simply asked, “Right now?”

Sherlock shook his head.  “No, no.  You can finish whatever you were doing while I take down the ornaments.  Another 20 minutes at least.”

Soon enough, the tree was hauled back down the stairs and a joyful Mrs. Hudson danced around while they struggled to get it in and standing in her flat.  Grabbing their coats, they made their way through the Baker Street crowds to the small tree stand John had purchased the previous tree from only a few days earlier.

Sherlock had specific requirements in mind, and grilled the seller as if he were the prime suspect in a murder investigation.  “No!  Not _Picea glauca!_   Obviously only _Picea asperata_ or _Pinus elliotii_ will do.  Do you not know your trees?  And you call yourself a merchant!”

Directing him to some lovely trees far from the sputtering salesman, John showed Sherlock a lovely blue spruce, the perfect size for their flat.  Sighing, Sherlock nodded, “I suppose it will have to do.  The lack of selection is appalling.”

Paying for their tree, they slowly started walking back, their progress stalled by the large tree and even larger crowds.  Sherlock insisted John be in the front, but due to carrying the bottom of the tree was hidden from the detective’s view, which caused Sherlock to almost push him over several times when he had to stop for the throngs of shoppers.

Finally reaching the flat, much cursing and pushing was needed to get the large tree up the narrow flight of stairs.  Three hours of bartering, pushing, pulling and straightening, they finally had a large tree fit for the living room.  Sitting back on the sofa, Sherlock threw an arm around John’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Now that is the perfect Christmas tree.”

Considering that it was the first tree they had purchased as a couple, John couldn’t help but agree.


	6. Decorating the Tree

Another Sherlock free afternoon.  Two in one week.  John was beginning to wonder what he had done to be so lucky.  Not that he didn’t love the man.  He did, even if they had yet to exchange the words, but sometimes it was nice not to worry about what might be exploding next for a little while.  John wasn’t sure where his flatmate had gotten off to, but as long as he didn’t receive any unpleasant messages from Scotland Yard, he was happy

The arms chairs needed to be moved to make room for the frankly massive tree Sherlock insisted they buy.  John thought it was too big for the room once they got it in there, but Sherlock finally catching the Christmas spirit was something he wanted to encourage.  Plus it was the first truly “coupley” thing they had done since their first kiss 6 days ago.

Six days.  It didn’t seem possible that it had been less than a week since he had finally given in and kissed the insufferable man under the mistletoe.  Six days of kisses, hugs, and snuggling on the couch.  They had not progressed much further then they went with the first kiss, but John was alright with taking it slowly.  No sense in making Sherlock uncomfortable.

As he settled in with his second cup of tea, he heard the door slam shut and heavy footsteps make their way upstairs.  “John!” Sherlock boomed, making his way into the room.  “I went shopping!”

At this, John’s head whipped around to see that, indeed, Sherlock was overburdened with more bags and boxes than John thought possible for one man to carry.  John leapt up, grabbing some of the parcels from Sherlock’s hands.  “What is all this?”

“Christmas decorations, John!  Enough for the whole flat.”

Opening a few of the bags, John realized that yes, they were filled with ornaments, tinsel and lights.  Sherlock immediately took a strand of lights and started wrapping it around the tree.  John chuckled before going to help him.

It didn’t take long to get the tree lit up, with the same slightly gaudy multi-coloured lights John had used on the small tree now downstairs.  Next they got to work on the ornaments, first John’s family heirlooms then the ones Sherlock had purchased.  Most were plain bulbs of various colours, but in one small bag John found a few more unusual.

“A gun?  For the Christmas tree?”  He held the small glass revolver in his hand, staring at it wondering where would you even find such a thing. 

“Yes, John.  It is vitally important to our lives so it should be on the tree, like the rest of the ornaments in that bag.”

Slowly, John took them out and inspected them. A small tea cup.  A jar of jam.  A riding crop.  A small knit jumper in the exact colour of his favourite oatmeal one.  A magnifying glass and a microscope.  It was as if Sherlock had miniaturized their life to hang on a giant spruce.

“These are lovely, Sherlock.”

Sherlock turned, pulling John into his arms.  “I may not always show it John but you are the most important thing in my life.  Since I can’t put you on the tree those things will have to do,” he whispered hesitantly before placing a kiss on John’s lips.  John smiled into the kiss because if that wasn’t a declaration of love, he didn’t know what was.


	7. Mistletoe

“Do you know why we hang parasitic plants indoors to encourage people to kiss?”

John sighed.  Sherlock had been obsessed with the small twig that had kick started their relationship for the past week.  “No, Sherlock.  Please enlighten me.”

“Originally it was seen as the semen of the divine male.  You have to admit they do look a bit like that.  Later it was the wood used to kill the god Baldr by Loki in Norse mythology.  No one is sure where the tradition of kissing under it came from, but I’m sure the thing about the divine male had something to do with it.  It would make sense, at least more so then the death of some beautiful god at the hand of a trickster. “

Chuckling, John walked around the table to Sherlock, who was lounging on the couch, staring at the small leaf hanging in the doorway.  “Did you memorize Wikipedia, dear?”  John asked as he stretched out on top of his flatmate.  Sherlock’s hands came up to wrap loosely around John’s waist.

“Maybe.” Sherlock’s brows knit together.  “Wait.  Did you just call me ‘dear’?”

A shy smile spread across John’s face.  “I did.  Is that a problem?”

“Nope, not at all.”  John bent, kissing Sherlock, thankful for the mistletoe that encouraged him to make the first move but even more thankful that it was no longer necessary. 


	8. Making a Snowman

“Just pretend we are a happy couple doing something enjoyable together.”  It was bitterly cold, and John was rather miserable.  He was snotty, shivering and quite certain that his lips were a brilliant blue.  And of course, Sherlock stood next to him, not a hair out of place, with just a slight rosy tone to his cheeks to even suggest that it was below zero outside and they had been there for an hour.

“We are a happy couple, but the last time I found this enjoyable I was in primary school, Sherlock.”  They stood together in the middle of this park surrounded by smiling children and loving couples trying to roll some of the recently fallen snow into a respectable size ball.

It was for a case.  Of course it was for a case, because why else would they be out at 8PM in the middle of a park making a bloody snowman.  Someone had been attacking couples in this park for the last few months and Sherlock was getting frustrated at their lack of progress.  Thinking that a trap was the best way to lure them out, Sherlock used the snow as an excuse for them to sit in the park for hours.

“Snowmen, John!  It is a normal couple activity that would require us to be outside for extended periods in one place.”  When John pointed out that it was only a normal couple activity at age 12, Sherlock had waved him as was his way.  And so John found himself in the middle of a park, freezing his nuts off and waiting to be attacked.  This was his life.

“Why are they going to attack us?  There are plenty of other pairs in the park right now.”

“Yes, but we are the only same sex couple, and there has been a higher percentage of homosexual couples attacked then could be accounted for as statistical probability.  Tonight falls within his pattern so unless the weather is keeping him home, I expect an attack to be happening within the next hour or two.

John considered arguing that the weather was a perfectly logical reason to stay home, but continued rolling his snowball, trying to play the part convincingly.  As they were placing the head on the rather small and slightly lumpy snowman, Sherlock murmured under his breath, “To your right.” 

Leaning forward, Sherlock stole a quick kiss as the man walked towards them, hand in his pocket.  When he pulled the knife he was rather surprised to have John pull a gun and Sherlock take him down quickly in his shock.  Using some of Lestrade’s old cuffs, they had him face down in the snow as Sherlock sent off a quick text to the DI.

“Someone will be here soon to collect him, John,” Sherlock said, not looking up from his phone.  “Chinese?”

“Sounds lovely,” John chuckled. 


	9. Ugly Christmas Jumper

Lounging on the couch, eyes closed, Sherlock grunted when a large object hit him in the stomach.  Cracking his eyelids slightly, he spotted a smug looking John Watson standing over him grinning.  “Got you something,” he said with a laugh.

Looking at the package on his belly, Sherlock smiled as well, sitting up to inspect the gift.  “It isn’t Christmas for another 2 weeks, so why do I get this now?”

“I just thought you would like to enjoy it during the whole holiday season.  Open it.”  John sat, nudging Sherlock’s legs out of the way to make space on the sofa.

Sherlock shook the box, turning it over in his hands.  “John,” he growled.  “Please tell me you didn’t.”

John’s grin spread even wider.  “Just open it, you berk.”

Carefully, Sherlock opened the paper, one eye still on his friend who was enjoying this too much.  Sliding the box out from the wrapping, he cracked the lid, sighing deeply when he saw the contents. 

“I know how much you like mine, so I thought you would appreciate one of your own. “

Sherlock pulled the offending garment from the bag.  It was mostly red wool, with grey, white and black zigzags and snowflakes.  It was a turtleneck as well.  Directing a murderous glare at John just caused the man in question to laugh even harder.  Sherlock kicked him a bit and pushed him off the couch.  John landed with a bump, before rising to his knees and pulling Sherlock down with him.

“What?  You don’t like my gift?” he asked, lips brushing against Sherlock’s.

Before closing the gap between them, Sherlock grunted, “I think it best to leave the ugly jumpers to you, John.”


	10. Baking Cookies

John took the steps two at a time, his momentum almost causing him to topple over when he reached the bottom.  “Sherlock, come on.  We promised.”

Eventually the man in question appeared at the top of the stairs and began to reluctantly make his way to the flat below.  Mrs. Hudson had requested their help with the finishing touches for her Holiday party and John agreed, much to Sherlock’s chagrin.  

Rolling his eyes, John knocked on the door to 221A and smiled broadly as their landlady opened the door.

“Just in time, dears.  The oven has finished heating so I am putting the first batch in now.”  John looked at Sherlock, raising an eyebrow in question to which the detective just shrugged.  They had assumed they would be helping decorate, but apparently she had other ideas.

Reaching the small kitchen, it looked like a bomb of flour and sugar had gone off, coating everything in a fine film of white.  Mrs. Hudson was just putting a tray of gingerbread men in the oven.  Glancing around the rest of the flat revealed that it was perfectly decorated.  “Mrs. Hudson?” John asked.  “Are we here to help you bake?”

“Of course, John.  You two do love my baking so much I thought you might want to help.  And I do appreciate it.  It is so hard to get all the baking and the decorating done.  So while I make the little men, you can decorate them.”

John smiled, the smell of ginger and Mrs. Hudson’s voice taking him back to his grandmother’s kitchen when he was small.  Sherlock, for his part, stood in the doorway looking sullen.  “Sherlock, smile.  It’s Christmas time after all.”  John grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently before, going to sort through the icings and candies she had laid out for them.

When the first batch came out of the oven, John got to work immediately.  Eventually the smell drew Sherlock over, who leaned on John’s chair and watched him ice the treats.  “No loitering, Sherlock.  Grab a man and get to work,” Mrs. Hudson called, her head down near the oven checking on the latest tray.

Sherlock sighed but plopped himself in a chair next to John and grabbed one.  They both soon found a rhythm and within a couple hours 4 dozen gingerbread men lay spread across the table.  And if half of them sported bullet holes or head wounds, no one said anything.


	11. Snogging in front of a fire

It seemed a bit early on in the relationship for any “Hey! We’re a couple!” declarations, but as with so many things, John and Sherlock did not do what was expected.  Not that they planned for it to happen that way.

John sat, near the fireplace, trying to get it going.  Their guests were due to arrive in the next 20 minutes and they still needed to set out all the food and move some of the more gruesome crime scene photos.  Yet he was stuck tending to a fire that just wouldn’t light.   

Pushing him slightly out of the way, Sherlock kneeling down beside him.  “Oh, let me.  This is taking you far too long.”

“Yes, I suppose you are more experienced at lighting things on fire,” John bit back, glancing pointedly at the now charred curtains.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “It was an experiment, John, you know that.”

“It’s always an experiment, Sherlock.”  The fire was beginning to catch and John had to admit that Sherlock was doing a fine job.  He started to get up to finish things in the kitchen, when the flickering light from the fire caught Sherlock’s face in just the right way.

Gasping softly, John found himself slightly out of breath.  Sherlock turned at the sound and his eyes darkened, mirroring the expression in his partner’s face.  John brought his hand out to trail the knuckles along Sherlock’s cheekbone.  The fact that he was able to touch this amazing man whenever he wanted still brought him unspeakable joy.

Leaning into the touch, Sherlock tugged John closer and they kissed softly for a moment, on their knees in front of the flames.  The only other light in the flat came from the hall and from Baker Street below.  Sliding his hand around to grip Sherlock’s waist, he pulled him in closer but the sudden movement knocked them both off balance, causing them to topple to the floor. 

John began unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt, while for his part Sherlock was tugging John’s from the waist of his trousers.  The only sounds echoing through the flat were the crackle of the fire, the smacking of lips, and the soft panting of breath.  Because of this, it should not have been difficult to hear the steps coming up from below, yet they did not notice until too late.  

“Sherlock!  John!” Lestrade’s voice boomed out, while over him Sally said, “Looks like the freak forgot about his own party.”  Anderson’s choked gasp drew all three of their attentions to the tangled know of clothing and limbs on the floor.  John looked up guiltily, while Sherlock was merely annoyed.

“Don’t you people knock?” he asked, before tugging John down for one more kiss, before the doctor jumped up, tucking in his shirt as he went, to play host.  If anyone asked about the flush on his face, he thought he could always blame the fire.


	12. Watching a Holiday Film

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to keep it short due to circumstances in my personal life, so enjoy a 221B.

The case was exhausting but both were too riddled with adrenaline to sleep.  John pushed Sherlock into the kitchen, insisting the man could make the bloody tea for once, while he searched for a film to pop into the player.  As Sherlock returned, two mugs in hand, John was just hitting play on his favourite holiday film.   Sitting on the couch, he motioned for Sherlock to join him. 

“Are those puppets?” Sherlock asked incredulously.  “And singing?  John, this film is ridiculous.”

“Shut it and watch already.  I like this movie.  It’s silly and fun and has a good message.” 

“It has singing puppets.  And, oh god, ghost puppets?  Really, John!”

They bickered throughout the first half hour, drinking their tea and not really paying attention to the film.  Soon, John’s head started to droop and he leaned over to rest against Sherlock.  Setting down his mug, Sherlock tilted to allow himself room to spread out on the sofa, pulling a dozing John on top of him.  The movie was soon forgotten as Sherlock traced the lines of John’s face with his fingers and ran them through the dark blonde hair as his own eyes started to drift closed.

Curled around each other on a couch not quite wide enough for them both, they slept soundly as the credits rolled to black.


	13. Listening to Christmas Music

Returning to 221b after a long day at the Bart’s morgue examining the effects of certain acids on tattooed skin, he was unnerved by the amount of noise coming from the flat.  No, not noise.  Music.  Christmas music?  This was rare as the only music in 221B tended to come from Sherlock’s violin, and only when he felt inclined to play actual notes, which was not often.  Sherlock took the steps three at a time wondering what he would find at the top. 

He knew he had been gone for awhile, but long enough for John to have a complete personality change?  It seemed unlikely.  Yet, here was the man dancing around the flat to some Christmas song about “Rocking” and a “Christmas tree”, wearing nothing but an old white t-shirt and red pants.  Red.  Pants.  Sherlock’s brain froze up at the sight of those. 

The man seemed oblivious to the presence of another person, and kept dancing around, creamy looking drink in hand.  Loose limbs.  Unusual behavior.  Strange looking beverage. 

“John, you are drunk.”  It was not a question, just a statement of fact and scared the other man half to death.  Jumping slightly, he dropped his drink, spinning around to see Sherlock propped agains the door jam, small smirk on his face.

“Jesus, Sherlock!  I’m not drunk.  Just, um, tipsy.”  The music continued to “rock” in the background and John’s face quickly grew red enough to match the colour of his pants.

Sherlock crossed the flat in a few paces, completely invading John’s personal space.  “John,” he drawled, “I believe you would have to be drunk in order to be seen in that attire.”

Glancing down, John’s face grew redder if possible and he muttered, “Fuck.”  Looking down at the glass, he said, “I picked up some eggnog at the store.  Thought it would be a nice treat.  Was going to take a shower but thought maybe one glass wouldn’t be so bad.  Then another.  And, well, now I’m not sure how many I had.  Um, I’ll just go change.”  He tried to make a move towards his bedroom but Sherlock quickly wrapped his arms around him, holding him in place.

“I kind of like this look on you actually.  Red is definitely your colour.”  His hand snaked down John’s back, thumb just tucking inside the elastic waist band. 

Leaning forward, they met with a kiss, Sherlock’s hand tucking farther inside the snug red pants, cupping John’s arse.  His tongue darted into John’s mouth, tasting the cream, nutmeg and bourbon on top of John’s natural essence.

“Is there any more of the drink?” he growled as they broke apart, his eyes penetrating in to John’s.  “Because if this is what I come home to when you have access to eggnog, we will need to buy gallons.”


	14. Ice Skating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble today because HOBBIT

It turns out that while legs so long they seem to go on for miles may be good for chasing criminals through London or wrapping around your partner in the heat of passion, they are not so good when placed over blades on ice.  Sherlock’s ego and bum were both bruised after John insisted on an afternoon of normalcy.   While Sherlock may be elegant and graceful on solid ground, put him on skates and he becomes as sure-footed as a newborn calf.  To say John’s sides hurt from laughing after the whole affair would be the understatement of the century. 


	15. Snowball Fight

The snow had been falling steadily for hours as John and Sherlock made their way through the part back home to 221B. It was late, pushing midnight, and the park was practically abandoned save for a couple people making a racket at the far end. The snow crunched under their feet and the chill reddened their faces.

Bending to tie his shoe, an evil idea came to John’s mind. Scooping up snow into his gloved hands, he balled it tightly as they continued walking. Sherlock, brain engrossed in the details of the latest case, took a remarkably long time before he noticed the white ball in John’s hand.

“John,” he drawled, “what do you think you are doing?”

No answering, John just smiled, passing the ball back and forth between his hands menacingly.

“Do not even think about it, John.” Sherlock sped up, head turned so he could keep an eye on John.

“Think about what, Sherlock?” John smiled innocently as *thunk thunk thunk* the snow ball was tossed from hand to hand. 

A siren sounded in the distance and Sherlock instinctively turned in the direction of the noise. John chose that moment to make his move and *splat* the snowball hit Sherlock directly between the shoulder blades, sticking to the thick wool of his coat.

Spinning around he glared at John who was doubled over laughing hysterically. “John Watson!” The indignance in his voice just made John laugh harder, until a snowball hit him on top of the head.

Scooping another ball of snow, he tossed it at Sherlock, who dodged artfully. Soon both men were throwing and dodging, Sherlock hitting John with much higher efficiency as the soldier was laughing too hard to focus on the target.

As the snow melted it soaked through both his jacket and jumper and quickly he was shaking and chattering as much as he was laughing.

Sherlock shook his head, amusement twinkling in his eyes and tugging at his lips. He wrapped his arms around John, pulling him close. “I thought you were the supposed sensible one of the two of us. Let’s get you back to the flat before you die of hypothermia. I would be lost without my blogger.”


	16. Catching Cold

Sherlock and John made their way home from the park quickly, John’s chattering teeth getting louder with each block.  As they climbed the stairs to the flat, Sherlock noted with some concern that his lips were a unnatural shade of blue. 

“Ok, you, bath, now,” he said, half dragging John up the last flight of stairs to the bathroom.  Turning the water on to a pleasant temperature, he turned to his shaking flatmate.  “Arms up.”    John complied and Sherlock pulled his jumper and vest off in one swift movement, his jacket having been discarded downstairs.  He reached for the belt on John’s trousers but John batted away his hand.

“I c-c-c-can do it,” he stuttered but his cold fingers refused to cooperate.  He looked away as Sherlock undid his belt and fly, pulling down trousers and pants.  In the back of John’s mind he realized that if he was currently capable of producing heat his cheeks would be flushed.  This was not how he pictured his first time being naked in front of Sherlock.

“Come on, John.  Shoes off now.”  Sherlock, for his part, was determinedly looked anywhere but at John.   This was a new step in their relationship and while he would love to sit and analyze every inch of the skin in front of him, he was more concerned about John’s health than his own pursuit of knowledge.  Distantly he wondered when that switch had occurred.

Once he was finally undressed, Sherlock left him to soak in the bath and went in search of the warmest pajamas he could find.  Finding a pair of fleece bottoms and a thermal top, he returned to the bathroom and left them sitting on the counter.  

In the kitchen, he turned on the kettle for tea and set to work making two cups as the water drained from the tub upstairs.  He marveled at how the tables had turned from just a short while ago when he was the one freezing and John made the tea.  However, that night there was a fire in the fireplace, and Sherlock was certain John would kill him if he managed to burn down the flat building him a fire. 

Instead, he took the two mugs upstairs, meeting John just coming out of the bathroom.  He nodded in the direction of John’s bedroom and followed him in.  Setting the tea on the dresser, he pulled back the blankets for John before climbing in on the other side and sliding in behind John.  “Sherlock?” John asked, perplexed, his voice sounding a bit scratchy.

“You need more heat.  Body heat is about all I have to offer.  And tea.”  John smiled as he accepted his mug, and leaned against Sherlock’s chest while they both sipped the hot liquid.  John’s colour was returning to normal and the mugs were empty, so Sherlock wordlessly took John’s and started to extricate himself from the bed.

“No,” John said, catching his wrist.  “Stay with me?  Please?”

Sherlock considered it for a moment before nodding once.  “Alright.  I’ll be right back.”  He hurried downstairs, dropping the mugs in the sink and then to his own room where he changed into his own pajamas.  He returned to the upstairs bedroom to find John dozing against the headboard.  Sherlock climbed back in, and pulled the sleeping doctor into his arms.

“Good night,” John muttered sleepily, one of his arms coming up to wrap loosely around Sherlock’s waist.  “I love you, ‘Lock.”

Sherlock Stayed awake well into the night watching John sleep in his arms, a smile on both of their faces.


	17. Spending Time With Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 221B Style tonight.

“Are you shagging that gorgeous flatmate of yours yet or not?”

“Jesus, Harry,” John was already regretting this dinner date and he just sat down. 

She just rolled her eyes, “Come off it John.  He’s a delicious specimen.  I don’t even like men and I would consider it.  You live with him.  You are telling me you’ve never actually wanted to fuck him senseless?”

“I didn’t say that either, did I?  Just a little tact would be nice.”  It also would have been nice if Sherlock had come with him, he thought bitterly but, as their relationship was still in its infancy, forcing Harry’s company on Sherlock seemed cruel and unusual punishment.

“So you are shagging him.  Good for you.  I mean, they didn’t call you ‘Three Continents Watson’ for nothing.”

John sighed, silently requesting patience from whatever deity that may be listening.  “I am not shagging him.  Not yet anyway.  We are taking things slow.  We’ve only shared a bed once, and we just slept.  Well, I slept.  He doesn’t do that much.  I’m not even sure if he is interested in sex to be honest.  Either way it doesn’t bother me.  As long as I have him, I’m happy.”

Harry’s eyes widened at John’s admission and her smile softened to something more genuine.  “Johnny boy, you have it bad.”


	18. Sharing Warm Clothes

Harry left John with the check, having received a text from Clara and rushing off to meet her.  Sighing at his flighty younger sister, he paid the bill and walked out into the brisk London evening.  They had talked for several hours and actually had one of the best conversations they had had in years.  John was feeling rather at peace with the world, but as the blocks rolled on in front of him, the chill was starting to dampen his mood.  As his shoulder began to ache from the cold and his leg was stiffening, he thought that perhaps a cab would have been the smarter option.  Now there were only 6 blocks until home and his own sense of pride and frugality kept him from flagging one down.

Turning the corner on to Baker Street (still several blocks from the flat), he stumbled directly into a man coming the other direction.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, trying to burrow into his coat for the last haul to home. 

“John, I was coming to get you.”  John blinked up, surprised.  In his haste to get home, he hadn’t seen Sherlock there.   “You are freezing.  Why didn’t you take a cab?”

“Didn’t think I needed it,” he explained, leaning against Sherlock for warmth. 

Undoing his scarf, Sherlock wound it around John’s neck, covering his ears and mouth as well.  “Better?”

Nodding, gratitude shining from his eyes, John took Sherlock’s hand and led him the last few blocks back to 221B.


	19. Attending a Holiday Party

Garland and assorted greenery hung from every corner of the room with tinsel and brightly coloured baubles covering the bare spaces in between.  It was louder than usual in the office the eggnog and mulled wine causing voices to raise to unusual high levels.  The music was festive and everyone was having a good time.

Everyone but Sherlock Holmes.

John could be seen dancing with various detectives and officers at the Scotland Yard Christmas party while Sherlock sat at the side of the room and glared at him.  How could he be having so much fun?  How could they all be having so much fun?  There could be a murder to investigate or at least experiments to run.  Sitting at a forced social gathering with people he typically despised, or at best barely tolerated, was hateful.  He sipped his wine and thought of various excuses to get him and John out of there.

As he sat, brooding, John came up to him with a flush on his cheeks and a grin on his lips.  “Sherlock, it is Christmas.  You are supposed to be having fun.  Instead you look like someone murdered your cat.”  Sherlock continued to scowl. 

“What is wrong with you?  Come and dance with us.  It’s fun.  You might actually enjoy yourself.”

Sighing, Sherlock’s face softened a fraction, “I don’t want to be here.  I want to be at home with the skull, the experiments and you. I don’t want those people dancing with you.  I don’t want them touching you.  I hate this.  Can we go?”

A slower song came on and John smiled, reaching out his hand to Sherlock.  “Yes.  But first, one dance.  Come on.  If I’m leaving early, you can at least give me this.”

Sherlock pushed himself off the wall and allowed John to lead him to the small area designated as the dance floor.  John took one of Sherlock’s hands in his and wrapped his arm around the man’s waist.  Together they swayed to the music, eyes never leaving the other’s.  Sherlock mirrored John’s position, using his arm to pull John flush against him.  He realized that most of the room was watching, but if this is what he needed to do in order to go home, then they could stare. 

John came to rest his head on Sherlock’s shoulder as they continued to move with the music.  The feeling of this man up against him, moving together as one, awakened something in Sherlock that he could only assume was lust.  It was a new sense as his only sexual experience to this point had been purely academic or deductive in nature. 

“John,” he murmured, his voice vibrating in his chest pressed against John.  “Can we go home?  There is something I would like to do.”

“An experiment?” John asked, pulling back to look at Sherlock.  Seeing the need in Sherlock’s lust blown eyes he breathed out a quiet, “Oh,” before breaking out in a smile.   “Yes.  I think home is a brilliant idea.” 


	20. An Early Present

Sitting in his arm chair, reading the newspaper, John felt very relaxed and at peace with the world.  Or at least until he heard the footsteps thudding up the stairs and the bellowing “JOHN!” of his insufferable flatmate turned boyfriend.

“Sherlock, you don’t have to yell.  Not like this is some massive estate,” John muttered as the man in question ran into the room.  “Yes?” he asked when met with Sherlock’s intense stare.

In his hands, Sherlock held a large parcel, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with string.  “I know there are still several days until the holidays, but this is for you.”  He shoved the item in question into John’s hands who peered up at him, curious.

“I can wait, Sherlock.  You don’t have to give it to me now.” 

Sherlock shifted his weight and shook his head slightly, looking nervous if John was forced to put a word to it.  “No. You must open it now.  It must be now.”

Shrugging, John carefully untied the string and slid his finger under the seam, attempting to open the present without tearing the paper, knowing how much it was annoying Sherlock.  “Oh come on, John,” he grumbled looking unhappy.

Smiling up at him, John finished opening the paper and pulled out a large, green leather bound book.  Turning it over, he read the words, The Hobbit, on the cover.  Flipping open the front page, his eyes widened, “First edition?  Sherlock, this is too much.”  Reverently, he traced the letters.

Sherlock came to sit on the arm of the chair next to him, “Nonsense, John.  You love this book.  Don’t deny it, I have seen your eyes light up every time you see it when we pass the bookstore.”  Sherlock’s hand rested lightly on John’s shoulder. 

Blinking rapidly, John smiled at him.  “I don’t know what to say.  It’s wonderful.  Thank you.”  He reached up and pulled Sherlock down for a soft kiss.  “But why couldn’t it wait?  Just too excited?” 

Sherlock shook his head.  “Look inside the back cover.”

John opened the back cover and his grin got larger.  “Movie tickets?  Oh god.  Opening night!  But that’s tonight!”

“Yep, so I suggest you go get ready.  We can get dinner on the way.”  John stood and pulled him in to a bone crushing hug before rushing off to get ready for his first real date with Sherlock.  


	21. In a Cafe

Following the movie, John desparately wanted a cuppa so they stopped at a small 24 hour café near the theatre.  It was only 10pm but the place was deserted.  John placed their order while Sherlock found seats.  It had been a lovely evening, dinner and movie, something that should be dreadfully normal but Sherlock found that with John even dull things were made interesting. 

John returned with a cuppa for himself and a black coffee (two sugars) for Sherlock.  He smirked slightly seeing Sherlock in a ridiculously overstuffed sofa.  Handing his cup over, John sunk down into the cushion, next to Sherlock.

“Normally I find movies dull, but that one was interesting.  The world was well thought out, but it ended at a weird place.  There was no resolution.”

“Well, there are two more movies, so that may have something to do with it,” John smiled at the utter normalcy of the moment.

“Oh, well, then I guess I know what to get you for the next couple Christmases.”  Sherlock leaned over and gave him a soft kiss before looking him back at him curiously.

“John, has anyone ever told you that you look a bit like a hobbit?”

And just like that, John thought, things were back to their own personal brand of normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. This one is pretty bad. My writing time is limited until after the holidays. Hopefully the next one will be better.


	22. Power Outage

*ring*

“John, where do we keep the candles?”

“No candles for you, Sherlock.  Remember what happened last time.”

“But I need them!”

“No.  Candles.”

“I can’t see without them.”

“Why not?”

“Power is out.”

“Why?”

“Experiment.”

“Is it only out in the flat, the block, or London in general.”

“The block.”

“You knocked out power to the entire block for an experiment?”

“Well, it wasn’t on purpose.  Fascinating result though.”

“Sherlock, fix the power.”

“I can’t without candles.”

“Use a torch.”

“Batteries are burned out and you have the other ones hidden.  Probably near my cigarettes.”

“There are two batteries behind the tin containing the tea bags.  Use those for the torch only.”

“When will you be home?”

“Christmas Eve.”

“If the power doesn’t come on, I may freeze to death by then.”

“I have means to warm you up.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes, Sherlock.  But don’t freeze just because of that.  Fix the power and I will warm you up even better.”

“Bye, John.”

“Bye, Sherlock.”

*click*


	23. Christmas Eve Drinks

John’s cab pulled to a stop in front of 221b and he could not help the relieved sigh as his key went in the lock.  It had been a long 2 days.  A distant relative had asked him to travel to Glasgow to help with a great aunt who had fallen and broken a hip.  Sherlock had railed against the idea, but in the end, John’s sense of duty to his family won out and he traveled 3 days before the holidays to visit a family member he had not seen since prior to Afghanistan. 

His body hurt from the travel and change of routine and it was all he could do to drag himself up the steps to the flat.  Pushing open the door, he found Sherlock, not on the couch or in the kitchen as he expected, but standing directly in front of the door.  The moment they laid eyes on each other, Sherlock’s arms were around him, holding him close.  John melted into the embrace, a shuddering sigh bubbling up from deep within him. 

“I see you got the electricity back on,” he joked as he pulled back. 

Sherlock waved off the remark in favor of another hug. 

John smiled into Sherlock’s shoulder, “I take it you missed me.  Does it help that I brought you a present?”

Holding him at arm’s length, Sherlock’s eyes twinkled, “A Christmas Eve present?”

John simply nodded before kneeling to grab an item from his bag, producing a nice bottle of Scotch.  “Why don’t you go pour two glasses and I will get a fire going?”  He softly kissed Sherlock before walking over to get the fireplace lit. 

By the time he had a fire going, Sherlock had returned with two glasses of Scotch.  They took their places in their arm chairs, not speaking just enjoying the peaceful atmosphere. 

After a long while, Sherlock finally spoke, “Please don’t leave again.  It’s hateful when you aren’t here to answer me when I speak.”

John smiled at him, “I promise.  Next time I go anywhere, you are coming with me.”


	24. Putting Out the Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 221b style

Sherlock did not sleep much.  Even over the past couple days curled up next to John, he still only managed a few hours before he was up and moving again.  Because of this John knew he had to time this just right.  No sense in getting the perfect gift and then having him deduce what it was before it even made it under the tree. 

John waited patiently while Sherlock fell asleep, babbling incoherently about the drying rates of blood droplets.    He carefully extracted himself from the bed and snuck out to his old bedroom upstairs.  From under the bed he produced a package, wrapped to the best of his ability and he carried it back downstairs.

Sliding it under the tree, he noticed another present that had not been there earlier when they went to bed.  He turned to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, smiling at him.  “I see we both had the same idea.”

“I guess so.  You want to open them now?  We are up and it is Christmas after all.” 

Sherlock just shook his head and held out his hand to John, “No, it can wait.  I want to go back to bed.”

John followed him back and was soon drifting off when he Sherlock say, “Thanks for the new skull.  A new friend for Billy.”


	25. Christmas Morning

If this was a perfect Christmas story, the boys would wake to find a layer of fresh white snow blanketing their beloved London.  They would get up, drink some tea and open gifts in front of a roaring fire.  They would kiss and cuddle and lounge on the couch all day, just enjoying each other’s company.

Of course, this is John and Sherlock and nothing ever goes exactly according to plan, so instead of sleeping in, they were woken at 3:30AM by a phone call from Greg asking them to come to a crime scene.  They ventured out into a dark, rainy night that not even Kris Kringle would want to be in, to visit a murder scene that ended up being a family get together gone very wrong.  Returning to Baker Street around 8, they fell back into bed and slept until Mrs. Hudson banged on their door, wishing to present them with numerous Christmas goodies.  John happily accepted them from their not-housekeeper before curling back up around his lanky love.

“John,” Sherlock rumbled, his deep voice tickling John’s ear where it was pressed to Sherlock’s chest.  “There is something I would like very much for Christmas.”

“And what would that be?” John asked, trying for nonchalant while hoping that Sherlock was thinking what he was thinking.

“You,” was the simple answer that had John up and over him in 2 seconds flat.  John pinned him to the mattress, knees bracketing his hips. 

As john dipped his head to claim Sherlock’s mouth with his own he growled, “Thought you’d never ask.”

No more words were spoken that afternoon as John proceeded to nip, kiss, lick, rub, and caress every part of Sherlock reducing the normally eloquent man to nothing but moans and whimpers.  Sherlock gave as good as he got, and by the time John entered Sherlock, the first of many times for the day, the year, their lifetimes, neither was going to last very long.  Muscles quivering, they held tight to each other as John built up a rhythm, and within minutes John watched, fascinated, as Sherlock came all over the both of them.

The sight along with the contractions of Sherlock’s body around him brought John to completion a moment later, and he collapsed on top of the detective.   He smiled feeling Sherlock press kisses to his hair as they lay trying to regain their breath.

“I love you, Sherlock.  Happy Christmas,” John mumbled as sleep threatened to overtake him again.

“Merry Christmas, John.  I love you, too.” 

John’s grin was brighter than any Christmas star ever seen in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is that. I hope you enjoyed this!!


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